


When the Cold Morning Breaks

by SaveFromHeaven



Series: As Princes, Then Kings [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Child Abuse, First Time, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, M/M, Princes of Moscow, Prostitution, Sibling Incest, Violence, bakcstory, basically trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaveFromHeaven/pseuds/SaveFromHeaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up was not easy for the Ranskahov brothers.</p><p>For the prompt "The princes of Moscow share everything, and don't need anyone but each other." over at the <a href="https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=37333#cmt37333">Kinkmeme</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cold Morning Breaks

Of course Vladimir didn't need to see his brother's face to know it was him. He knew Anatoly's body better than his own.

They were sixteen the first time it occurred to them that they could do more than press their lips together in brief but always heartfelt expressions of their love, their affection, their anger and their promises. They had been doing it since they were children, curled up together in bed. It was always cold in their uncle's house. He was a man who did not believe in wasting money on heat when vodka could keep him warm just as well.

It was always Anatoly who pressed the rickety chair up under the doorknob, always Vladimir who clutched the knife under their pillow. It was always Anatloy who begged their mother to sleep in the room with them, always Vladimir who told her they would rather starve on the streets than let their uncle treat them the way he did. And always, always, she just smiled at them sadly, kissed their foreheads and warned them not to open the door, even for her, until morning broke over Moscow's indifferent streets. She kept him from coming for them. They both knew it.

The screaming and the weeping always started two hours after they locked themselves in. Sometimes, when it was too much they would kick aside the rickety chair and try to save her. Uncle Fedor liked those nights the best because it gave him an excuse to made it worse for all three of them. He enjoyed it more when he could made them watch what he did, helpless and broken. Hospitals were not an option. Vladimir couldn't even remember a time he had been in one. He couldn't remember a time when authority figures meant anything but danger. Threats. Anatoly could only remember one trip to the hospital- the day he went to meet his brother for the first time. He had held Vladimir, cradled his head and promised to always protect him.

Vladimir and Anatoly held each other after. When their uncle was satisfied and the brothers had stumbled back to their rooms aching but too proud to crawl or lay on the living room floor like the overturned furniture and bottle shards. They would fall into bed together the second the door was secured, one on top of the other, as intertwined as the pain would allow. Bloodied and desperate they pressed their lips together to seal their promise to protect each other. They had countless promises for revenge, for retribution and justice, that all needed their own seal. When they ran out of thpse they kissed to sooth back the words they could find no language to speak. They could not scream, they would not cry but they could be gentle with each other like this. When they were done soothing and promising they held their lips open against each others, just breathing. They knew they were stronger together, even in sleep.

They were ten when uncle Fedor killed their mother and dumped her naked bloody corpse on the side of the road like garbage. They were twelve when they brought their uncle the bottle of vodka, waited until he passed out drunk and then beat him to death with their bare hands and feet. They left his body in front of the fish market owned by the man who spat at them if they walked too close when they were going to school. They made sure everyone knew what they had done but that there was no way to prove it.

They pressed closed lipped kisses against mouths and foreheads and cheeks, promising each other that no one would ever hurt them again.

They stopped going to school. Anatoly got a job since everyone thought he was older (only they knew the truth- nothing could separate them, even age). They always thought of themselves as one. Complete together, each half fitting perfectly against the other, rounding out the whole. 

Vladimir made some friends. He fought with them and drank and showed them just how good he was with a knife or a bat in his hand. He beat their enemies to shit, did things to them that grown men would only whisper about in piss stained allies and the dark corners of half asleep bars. Vladimir was set on making a name for himself. 

Anatoly didn't like it. They fought about it. They hit each other, scrapped and rolled on the floor of their uncle's house (their house now, they took everything he had for what he'd done). Then Anatoly's lips were over Vladimir's and they were biting at each other, scratching at each other through their clothes, heaving breaths against each other.

"Fine," Anatoly said eventually as they lay curled and panting next to each other. "If this is what you want to do then this is what we'll do."

"Good," Vladimir said, reading out his hand to curl his fingers around his brother's. "We deserve better than this shit. We were born to be great men Tolya." Anatoly quit his job at the restaurant and joined his brother on the streets. By the time they were sixteen they were third from the top of their organization's hierarchy. They had killed and tortured dozens of men to get there. Neither of them was satisfied. Once Anatoly had come around to Vladimir's plan for them he had come around with a vengeance. He would see his brother crowned king of thieves or he would die trying.

It was the man at the top who first started ribbing them about being virgins, about scaring even prostitutes with their dark eyes and darker reputations. No one else would have dared to speak to them in such a way. Anatoly joked with the men occasionally but they all respected him despite his youth. Vladimir bristled and Anatoly grabbed his shoulder before he could make a scene in a room full of men loyal to their benefactor.

"Maybe you're right," Anatoly said lightly. "And maybe my brother and I will simply have to prove you wrong." Their boss's eyes gleamed at this. He wanted something to hang over them, to humiliate them with. He was scared of how quickly they were rising, how much the men feared them. The boss called over his favorite girl, Evgeniya. She was platinum blond, built like a pin up and ten years their senior. 

He said they could borrow her for the night as long as they got her back in one piece and didn't fight over who got to use her first. The men chuckled nervously but Anatoly just thanked their boss for his gift as the girl skirted away from Vladimir's viscous frown.

That night they took her up to their room and she stared at them uncomprehendingly when Vladimir sat down in the rickety chair and Anatoly tossed his coat in the corner of the room. Of course they didn't have to argue about who would go first. Anatoly always liked to try things first, to clear the way for Vladimir so his brother knew what to expect. Why wouldn't it be the same with this?

"Get on the bed," Anatoly said when she just stood there. She scrambled to comply, spreading her legs with her four inch high heels still on and hiking up her little skirt until it was over her hips and her cotton candy pink lace panties were framed and on display for Anatoly but not Vladimir. She was trying to be seductive despite her nerves. Another day Anatoly might had appreciated it. "No," Anatoly griped. "Off with all of it. Don't put your shoes on the bed, what are you, an animal?" Vladimir laughed and lit up a smoke. Anatoly had been trying to get him to quit for weeks but he said nothing.

The woman was trembling as she did as she was asked. Anatoly unbuttoned his shirt, shucked his pants and boxers along with it and stood with casual confidence watching her and stroking his dick lazily with one hand. She laid back on the bed, knees spread and watched him with wide eyes that couldn't help flickering back over to Vladimir before he crawled up to her.

He had heard enough of the men's banter to know how things went with a woman. Anatoly didn't particularly care whether or not Evgeniya had a good time, since he didn't particularly want to be fucking her, but he knew she would be reporting back to the boss on their performance and he wouldn't leave any room for ridicule. He caressed her, fingered her while she closed her eyes and tried to moan convincingly. Anatoly rolled his eyes at Vladimir who was suddenly red in the face. He was sitting with his legs crossed tightly, already smoking another cigarette. 

Anatoly smirked at his brother's strange behavior. He had a feeling Vladimir would be back to his usual self once he'd had his turn. Lust could do strange things to a man. Anatolly slid into Evgeniya, groaning in earnest at how good it felt. He held back from fucking her too quickly. He didn't want to hurt her- she was a nice enough girl and he wasn't a complete monster- or finish too soon. He could hear Vladimir's breathing speed up with his thrusts and it made Anatoly smile to himself mischievously, slow the roll of his hips until he was pumping in and out slower, deeper, harder. 

In a sudden burst of inspiration he pushed his thumb between Evgeniya's pink, plump lips and watched her suck on it with her huge doe eyes locked on his. His came, shuddering all over and listening to his brother's ragged moan. Some part of Anatoly was sure Vladimir could feel the same orgasm rolling up his spine, puddling low between his hips. 

It would only make sense if they came together, the same way they did everything else. But when Anatoly opened his eyes and sought Vladimir's he could see his brother's cock still standing stiff and red in the tight circle of his fist. He nodded and stepped away from the bed, switching places with his brother. 

Vladimir didn't undress. The trembling exhausted girl eyed him warily. His dick was hanging out of his open fly but she supposed that was all he really needed to expose of himself to be done with this. He pulled her to the edge of the bed opposite where Anatoly sat in the chair. Vladimir wrapped her legs around his hips and fucked her rough enough and hard enough that she didn't open her eyes to see how Vladimir couldn't look away from Anatoly's gaze. Their eyes were locked when Vladimir came.

The girl was grateful to leave and didn't try to kiss either of them goodbye.

Vladimir changed the sheets before he and his brother wound up together on the bed that night. They pressed sleepy kisses back and forth.

"I wanna fuck you," Vladimir whispered into his brother's collarbone late at night when even the sounds of the city had slowed and stilled. He shuddered once he'd gotten the courage to let the words escape. His head was tucked under Anatoly's chin so there was no pressure for either of them to look at the other.

"I know," Anatoly said, feeling as if his throat were closing up. "I want it too. Want to feel you inside me, to feel inside of you. Sometimes I think about your lips on my cock when I get stiff. I couldn't tell you, couldn't lose you. It's disgusting, what we are." Vladimir scoffed, tried to nestle even deeper into his brother's embrace.

"More disgusting than them? The junkies, the whores, the pedophiles that run this city? More disguising than the gulags? The wars? The prisons? Than what the big man makes us do? We aren't the disgusting ones Tolya."

"You have a point," Anatoly said wryly, kissing the top of his brother's head. "There are worse things."

They found another whore, a seasoned veteran of the streets who never blinked at anything they asked her, who was happy to take the money and willing die before she said a word about what went on in their bedroom. They liked her, treated her well, gave her son a position in their organization once they took over. She was the one who taught Vladimir how to slowly coax his nervous brother's body open, how to slip inside. 

She was the one who told him when to stop, use more slick before he tore Anatoly. She looked away when Vladimir cried as he came, shuddering out endless words of love. Anatoly kissed his brothers tears away, catishly satisfied. She was the one who taught Vladimir how to avoid using teeth when he went down on his brother. She showed Anatoly how to make knots that wouldn't dig into his beloved's skin. 

She died of pneumonia within a year. There was nothing they could do but bury her with dignity. They buried her son with dignity the year after that. 

They still hired prostitutes occasionally, girls who could be paid not to talk. They always shared- there was hardly a point if they weren't together for it. 

In many ways everything was the same as it had always been, even after they started dedicating their nights to learning each other's bodies. Even when they moved out of their uncle's old house and into the mansion they always, always slept in the same bed. All they needed was each other. They would never let anyone hurt them again.


End file.
